She was pretty, a whisper of heaven,
in every message, a warm longing.
She dedicated songs, melodies of love,
painting memories with her soft voice.
Nights would fall, and she would peek out,
with a "goodnight", the moon would shine.
The stars listen to her sweet words,
like an eternal song that the wind unravels.
In the morning, the sun woke up,
with her "good morning", the day illuminated.
Her images danced in a subtle dance,
a tender embrace of feverish dreams.
She was beautiful, between laughter and verses,
weaving the days like soft universes.
In her sweet writings, love blossomed,
a garden of caresses, her essence lived.
And though time passes and the landscape changes,
her memory resounds in soft plumage.
She was beautiful, a beacon in my heart,
her fragments of love, today they are song.
